Butterfly
by 0utlier
Summary: Over and over again he'd asked her what it meant, and she had never had the guts to tell him. "Broken Home" 4x18 Was previously solely a collection of Salex oneshots but now contains Nalex and Balex as well. Please give it a chance and review :) Thanks!
1. Broken Home

Alexandra Udinov walked over to Sean Pierce, nerves and other sorts of pent up energy pulsing inside of her, trying to break free, trying to break_ her. _She sat down beside him, watching him with blue eyes that were full of pain and confusion and hopelessness. She couldn't believe that any of the events tonight had happened, couldn't believe the things that she'd done. Couldn't understand what had possessed her, what had screwed with her head enough to shoot _Ryan_, to create an uprising with the power of killing all of them, including her and Sean. Her heart had ached ever since losing Larisa when she'd been captured and then after her fight with Nikita, yet tonight it was something entirely different. She'd always thought that the worst thing in the world was losing someone you loved, but tonight she'd learned that the worst thing in the world, the most unimaginable thing was losing yourself. "I need to talk to you, Sean," she said, looking for a light in his kind eyes, a sense of forgiveness or understanding. When he nodded, giving her a look full of love that she had a hard time believing was real, she continued on to say, "About Ryan." Ryan was one of her biggest regrets, a level that she couldn't believe she'd stooped to.

Sean Pierce cut her off before she could say anything else. "You shot him," he told her, absolute certainty in his words and yet no condemnation in his eyes. Instead he looked at her with a tenderness she knew she didn't deserve. Again and again she'd failed, failed in saving Larisa, failed in saving those girls…she couldn't save anyone. It made no sense for him to sit there calmly with her and watch her with concern, not when he should be yelling and walking away, when he should've been bailing, much like she always had. Much like she always did.

"How did you know?" Alex asked, her voice breaking. She'd told herself that she wouldn't cry, that she wouldn't break, but it was becoming more and more difficult. Sean was _here_, and they were alive—and he didn't look at her with hatred. All she wanted was to take refuge in his arms, in his lips, and forget that tonight had ever happened. She couldn't hide the relief in her voice, relief that _someone _understood, that someone knew that this had all started with the best intentions, that somewhere along the way that she'd lost herself.

He watched her, watched the way her limbs trembled and tears threatened to run free from her beautiful blue eyes, eyes full of pain and confusion, he felt something inside of him break, some monster raging to get free. If he'd ever had any doubt of his love for her before, there was none now, not when she looked to him for help. Even with tears on her cheeks, she was beautiful. He was fairly certain that she had never been _more _beautiful, even with red eyes and hair in a knotted mess. All that mattered was that Alex had finally given herself to him, fully and completely, and that was a look on her that he hadn't seen. The princess was always so strong and so certain, so invincible. _The Seal and the Princess_, he thought and would've smiled if the conversation hadn't been so grim. "When I saw your face," he started, his voice breaking a bit, "I became certain that you were not the Alex I know." Sean remembered that, remembered the desperation on her face that said that she was out of control.

"I didn't mean to shoot him," Alex told him, tears finally falling free. Her voice was pleading; she begged him to understand her. "I didn't mean to—I didn't mean for any of this to happen. _Please_, Sean, you _have _to believe me," she continued, her voice losing volume with every word. "The whole thing that mattered… The thing that mattered the most-"

Sean cut her off, resting his palm on her cheek, gently wiping her tears away with his thumb. "Was saving everyone. I know," he told her softly, his eyes warm and kind in a way that they had never turned before, not for anyone. He had loved his mother more than anyone, but she was gone now. Alex wasn't. She was damaged and broken and all of that was scary as hell, but she was here, and he loved her. And _that _was all that mattered.

Her voice grew stronger now and she took his hand in hers, holding it tightly, as if it alone were her only lifeline in the world. "No," she argued, "you don't know. I couldn't save my father," on 'father' her voice faltered, trembling. Alexandra took a deep breath, more tears falling. "I couldn't save Larissa and I couldn't save those girls that I left behind in the brothel," she continued, yelling now, feeling her emotions flailing wildly out of control. Sean was her only anchor now—she'd lost Nikita and Michael and even Birkhoff—and without him she _would _lose control. She _would _let go. After all, what was the point?

Alex's words made his blood run cold. _I couldn't save my father. I couldn't save Larissa and I couldn't save those girls that I left behind in the brothel. _That was what all of this had been about. It wasn't that she'd wanted a mutiny—she'd just been trying to save Division's agents, agents she deemed innocent, much like Larissa and those girls had been. All she'd wanted was to save her father and the rest of them, and to do that she'd sacrificed her own ability to save herself. With her near Sean decided that if she couldn't save herself, then he would save her. He was a seal, after all. "Stop," Sean directed her, needing to snap her out of this. Needing to do _anything. _"What's done is done. And I…I just want my girl back." His voice broke a little there because his words were true, so true that it hurt. He just wanted all of this to be over, just wanted to have _his _Alex back and take her away from all of this.

She blinked a few times, feeling her widespread set of emotions shifting. His hand felt warm on her skin, and if she could just concentrate on that, then maybe she would make it. "Now, help me to medical," He instructed, laughing softly. He started to stand up and then fell back, but Alex caught him, supporting him.

They walked side by side, and Alex tried to calm herself as they appraised the rubble. "If anything good came out of this, it's that I can finally use the big screen to watch Monday night football," he informed the empty room, laughing softly. She forced a smile at that, a smile that Sean knew was fake but had to accept nonetheless.

After a few more steps he fell again, his arm wrapped around his torso, and it was all Alex could do to slowly lower him to the floor. "Sean! Sean!" She yelled, immediately kneeling beside him. His breaths came with difficultly, and she felt his body for injury, feeling her blood run cold when she saw the bullet wound. "You got shot!" She cried, even more distraught when she found no exit wound. She cried out for help, screaming as loud as she could. She knew that there was no point because no one was here, but she did anyway, silently begging God or whoever to give them someone, anyone, who could help. "I can't find an exit wound! Where's the blood?" She asked, every nerve in her body fried.

Hands kept feeling his skin, looking for blood, looking for a bullet, but there was nothing. Sean looked over at her, obviously in pain, and exhaled, his words all coming out with one gust. "I've seen this before. It has to be internal bleeding. Bullet gets nicks a major artery and there's nothing you can do. She cried out again, to him, to no one, only distracted when Sean called her name, gripping her arms with his weak hands. "Alex, promise me," He began, having to take another breath before continuing, "Promise me. Promise me you'll find a way to get better," he continued on, silently adding _because I can't help you get better now. _There was an ache in his heart, an ache so big that the pain from his wound had nothing on it.

"No—don't worry about that now!" She shouted, and screamed for help again, her throat raw and sore. Alex stood up, looking around and desperately hoping that someone would magically appear to save him. "Someone _please _help us!"

Alex only returned to him when he called out for her again, kneeling by his side. "Alex, Alex." His voice was weak, a whisper. "Promise me," he told her, all of his fear in his face and love in his eyes.

"I promise," she said, and without realizing it she'd begun crying again.

His eyes drifted to a close and she grasped the collar of his shirt with her hands, shaking him. "Sean! Look, you were wrong before. When you said that the thing that matters to me the most was saving everyone, you were wrong. The thing that matters to me the most is you!" Alex gasped out and Sean's hand caressed her face one last time before falling limp, every breath coming slower and slower.

"Hey," he laughed, smiling. "This is where we met."

She tried to laugh, but it was weak and came out sounding more like a sob.

Sean's hand fell to the floor and his head involuntarily turning to the side, his last breath coming out in a sharp gust before exiting his body. "Hey!" Alex repeated, trembling, before leaning down to press a kiss against his lips, her tears staining his face. She held her lips there, instinctually waiting for his to respond, but they didn't. She searched his face for something, anything, anything…alive. Again, she found nothing but of a shell of what had been _her _Sean, _her _life.

Pain began to spread in every part of her body, in every limb and every vein, the kind of pain that could knock you breathless. At first all she did was breathe in and out gasping breaths, adrenaline catching as she searched his face again, waiting for him to crack a smile or laugh at her for being so stupid. But when he didn't, sobs escaped her lips, loud and powerful. She couldn't help but scream out, scream out all of the rage inside of her, all of the agony—she didn't expect anyone to hear. It wasn't pain for anything in particular, it wasn't the kind of pain she could distinguish. But it hurt, oh _god _it hurt. Her heart shattered. Her world shattered. She stayed there with him for a long time, that was the only detail she could ask of her scattered mind. It could have been hours or days, months or years; she didn't know. All she knew was that the pain never subsided, never let up. She laid on his chest, silently murmuring to him, "I love you, I love you." All of this time that they'd been together, she'd never told him. She'd known that he'd known, and it was easier that way. It was far too scary and painful to voice those feelings out loud. _Commitment. I had intimacy issues. Do you know how stupid that sounds now? _Alex thought to no one in particular, trying to understand what had caused her to be so _stupid. _

After she'd finally left his body and stood in a small cramped bathroom, trying to clear her face of the tears and saw the small butterfly tattoo on the back of her neck, her only conscious thought before breaking down again was that she'd never told him. Over and over again he'd asked her what it meant, and she had never had the guts to tell him. She'd thought that it was easier that way, keeping her heart under lock and key, never letting anyone in on her feelings. It was ironic, especially because after she'd returned from the warehouse, she'd kept claiming that she'd wanted to be heard. Right now, that was all she wanted. She wanted to be heard, and she wanted _him _to hear her. Without him, she was silently broken, and that was possibly the most painful of all. _You never really forgot the face of someone who was your last hope, _she thought, finally understanding, understanding because _he _had been her last hope.

And when she broke again, when she gave herself to the dark that threatened to consume her, so, so willingly, she did not resurface.

**(R&R! Honestly I never really shipped Salex until Sean died, and that makes me so sad. But I've been going back and now that I finally super ship them (I just liked them together and never really cared that much; Alex was just my fave) he dies. D: SCREW IT NIKITA WRITERS, MY OTP IS ALEXANDRA UDINOV + HAPPINESS! Anyways, thank you for reading. I hope you like it! Please review!)**


	2. Self-Destruct

**(A/N Thank you sooo much to all who commented and favorited this! I really appreciated it. You guys make my heart happy. (:**

**Miami Blackheart: Thank you so much! I hope so to… I'm glad that she's back with the remaining people who care about her, but I have a feeling that happiness might not come for awhile D:**

**Woostar16: Thank you so much! I love HG.. Sometimes it finds a way of working its way into my writing without me even noticing it XD Also, because I'm such a big noob.. What does PPMS mean?**

**writergirl99: IKR? Agh. Salex still makes me sad but I'm really starting to ship her and Birkhoff.. call me crazy! And I've ALWAYS loved her and Nikita's relationship.. They're my favorite ship on the entire show.. they MAKE the show. I'm so happy that you feel that way—thank you so much! **

**I honestly wasn't planning on doing anything else with this and I guess this chappie isn't really a Salex oneshot anyway. If I upload anything else there's no telling what'll be about, ahah. I uploaded this as a new story, too. Anyways, thanks guys! R&R! I love hearing from you!)**

* * *

The van pulled into Division's garage and Alex found herself wondering why she'd ever considered coming back here, why she'd somehow expected to come back and find everything the same when in truth, _everything _had changed. Everyone had left and everyone had _died_, and all that pain and loss was on _her _hands. If she hadn't shot Ryan, if she hadn't turned against Nikita, if she hadn't raised a mutiny and taught it how to stand and then destroy, maybe _he _would be alive. That pain was still with her—it was with her all the time, but as she came to the realization that when she entered Division for what had to be the millionth time, it would _not _be the same. Sean—it hurt to even think his name—wouldn't be there, and everyone that remained would look to her not as a friend, but as an enemy, and she couldn't blame them. Alexandra Udinov had made her bed, and now she had no choice but to lay in it.

She remembered that night in flashes and blurs, in gunshots and betrayals and blood. Alex had never wanted any of it to happen, but it hadn't mattered. She'd wanted to save everyone with a passion that had somehow swallowed her whole, causing her to lose sight of her morals, of _everything. _Instead of people she'd seen martyrs, instead of walls she'd seen steel bars, trapping her and everyone else inside of a prison that would kill them all. She'd _had _to save them, and when it'd started she'd been so confident that she could succeed, no matter how out of control she felt, because while she felt lost, she felt _power _and adrenaline and a streak of black inside of her that hadn't shown itself in a long time. The high was different than when she'd been on drugs, this time it was more a sense of fire and guns blazing than a sense of helplessness—after all, she hadn't wanted help. She hadn't wanted to be saved—all she'd wanted was to save her father and those girls and Sean and everyone else. But she hadn't been able to save anyone, not even him.

Nikita murmured something to Michael, but Alex didn't hear. She was too caught up in her own pain and guilt to notice the conversation. After, Michael nodded and shared a look with her and then left, leaving her and Nikita alone in the car. Neither one of them spoke for a few minutes, caught up in their own thoughts. It was a comfortable silence even after everything that had happened and Nikita didn't seem to mind it, something Alex was grateful for. She didn't want to talk—in fact, every instinct in her body was telling her to run. Finally she decided she _had _to, otherwise she and Nikita would sit in the car all night. "I don't know how I can walk into Ops right now. I… I think that it would be easier for everyone if I just… left," She told her, refusing to meet her eyes when she turned around from the front seat to look at her. How could she, after everything she'd done?

Her fingers absentmindedly traced the door's handle, and she thought about it, about leaving, _really _thought about it for the first time. Once in her life she might have thought that she could run off and start a new life, but now she knew that it was complete and entire bullshit. The pain stayed with you—it didn't matter where she went or who she was with; she would never forget Sean's face or voice or lips. She would never forget the damage she'd caused here or all the other people she'd failed to save. A normal life wasn't in the cards for her. And honestly, when she thought about Sean or Nikita or Michael or Birkhoff and all the other kind, beautiful people she'd met in this complicated, painful one, she wasn't sure if she wanted a normal life. If she could go back, would she make the same choices? Would she have chosen to be Alexandra Udinov? Would she feel all that pain just to meet Sean? To meet the man she had loved so much even if she'd never dared to admit it to herself? And if the answer was no, how could she begin to ever go on living?

"You have to stop this, Alex," Nikita told her, her kind, warm dark eyes demanding her attention. "You _have _to stop running."

Alex finally looked up to meet her eyes, her own blue eyes full of defiance. "I'm not."

"You are," the older woman countered. "You escaped from the brothel and you've been running ever since. You've never dealt with your past." Alex tried to find flaw with her words but she couldn't—because it was true. She was running, always running. She'd run away from Sean, too.

With the woman who was like a sister to her staring at her so intently, with so much love and determination, Alex didn't have the strength to lie. Instead, she told the truth. "I don't like thinking about it."

Nikita nodded in understanding. "Well, you've got to. It's only going to get worse. And next time, you might really get yourself killed." There was fear in her eyes, fear for Alex, fear _of_ Alex. She was so afraid that she would decide that it was better just to jump off the ledge instead of trying—because what if while trying to save everyone she forgot to save herself? "Look," she continued, "Amanda took something inside of you that you've been denying and used it as a weapon against you. As long as you're carrying around that guilt, that weapon will always be there. You have to start to heal yourself."

For the first time in days, Alex felt something other than pain or guilt—she felt _anger. _Bitterness._ Fear. _"What if I _can't?" _She asked, that same fear echoing in her crystalline eyes. She was afraid that her promise to Sean had been broken as soon as she'd made it; what if she _couldn't _get better? She was so, _so _afraid that she would always be broken like this—that she would never find a way to get better, a way to _breathe. _Ever since Sean had died she'd felt like she'd been trying to breathe through corrupted lungs, like the only thing she had left was the serrated knife of agony stuck in her chest, one that no one had the decency to puncture her heart with or pull it out and let her bleed like she knew she deserved to. Desperation was also in her eyes—disguised as tears, a desperation that threatened to swallow her whole. She looked away from those dark eyes, unable to look into them any longer.

When she finally looked back at Nikita, the look she gave her said that she might possibly be the only hope she had in the world. The fights they'd had didn't matter—_nothing _mattered. After all of this time, after Alex had loved and hated her with equal measure, she realized that Nikita was the only person that never left her. Nikita was a survivor, and maybe that was why she was the only person Alex trusted—she trusted her not to die on her like everyone else had. It was a completely different kind of trust than the one she had shared with Sean or the one she shared with Michael. It was the trust that no matter what happened, they would always come back to each other. It made leaving each other seem silly because they were never truly apart—even when Alex had wanted no more than to be free of her crazy plans. Nikita was the only one she had left, she realized. Somehow it always came down to the two of them—even when they'd both abandoned each other to fight their own battles. That's what a sister was. "You can," Nikita told her, complete faith in her despite as scared as she was of what they were about to face.

The Udinov princess tore her eyes away from her for a second and looked around the empty garage and imagined what Division would look like if she'd entered. She could form no picture in her mind. "Because you're a survivor," Nikita continued to say, demanding her attention once again. Alex shook her head silently, but she continued anyway. "And I know that's not some kind of curse. It just means that you're strong enough to keep going."

Alex looked down to the floor, Nikita's words hitting her hard. "I don't understand why _I _keep getting to live." She slowly looked up again, feeling that streak within her coming back. "Why me and not _them?_" Why not _Sean? _Why not good and kind and funny Sean who would never do anything to hurt her? Why not _him_? Alex silently added, forcing her tears back down.

This time it was Nikita who looked away, facing forward in her seat. "I had the same questions when Daniel died. I never found an answer," she told her honestly, staring off into space. "But maybe…maybe tonight is the answer," she said, looking back at Alex. "Those girls… they got out because we were there. We survived then and maybe they will now. And maybe, maybe someone else will have a chance because of them. Who knows?"

Once again, Alex nodded, for the first time in days feeling a spark of hope.

And then they left the car.

* * *

Side by side they entered Division, Alex trailing a little bit behind. There was less confidence in her step and her blue eyes trailed about nervously, like a bird deciding whether or not to take flight. Every bone in her body was telling her to run—to run to _anywhere _but here. Being back at Division brought back all the memories of that night—brought back the bloodshed and the tears and the screams. It bought back the shock and hurt on Birkhoff's face when he'd looked at her with blood all over his face. Brought back how she'd asked Owen to find him. Birkhoff who was so sweet and kind—Birkhoff who never wanted to hurt anyone, whose hand shook when holding a gun. Sonya's horrified face as Rachel held her boyfriend's life in her hands and the shaken grateful look she'd given Alex when she'd attacked Rachel. Tormented Owen who'd been tortured by Amanda's mind tricks even more than she had. Nikita and Michael. Ryan. _Sean. _Everyone who'd been lost all because of _her. _

In the distance she heard them walk into Ops—Michael, Birkhoff, Sonya, and _Ryan. _Their conversation—argument—faded off and she didn't hear much of what they were saying. Her eyes were not on them but on the damage around her—the flickering lights on the screen, the hole in the ceiling, and all the other things that were only the beginning of what had happened here.

They'd reached Ops to hear the tail end of the conversation. Alex hovered behind at the bottom of the stairs, resisting the urge to run.

"—Unless you want to put me _back _into a coma!" Ryan yelled, his face flushed with anger.

Birkhoff was the first once to notice her. Seconds later their faces turned toward her, a different look in each pair of eyes. Birkhoff's had hurt in them and also concern—concern for her or concern for his own life she didn't know. He didn't look at her like he used to—his face was deadpan; there was no gentle expression or sarcastic quip on his lips. That sent a familiar pang in her heart, one she tried to ignore. Michael's had concern in them as well, a wariness that never really seemed to leave him. His quickly strayed from hers and then met Nikita's, probably silently asking her if she was sure that this was the right thing to do. Nikita nodded, offering Alex a sympathetic smile that she didn't deserve. Sonya shared Nikita's look of sympathy, much like she had when Alex broke down that night and had sat in the middle of Division's floor, rocking back and forth with tears falling down her cheeks. She'd been the only one to see that, to see her lose control, for which she was grateful. Alex didn't want their sympathy—and she didn't deserve it, and it would only make things harder.

When she allowed herself to focus in on Ryan she subconsciously took a step back, and ran her hand through her hair, trying not to lose it. He noticed her last and when he did, the look in his eyes was what she'd expected. Anger and fear and pain—his blue eyes that were usually kind were now hard and filled with resentment. His face was cold and detached. He stared at her for a second before looking away, unable to even look at her. Slowly she made her way up the steps, hoping she didn't look like a threat. "I'm so sorry," Alex told them, her voice a lot stronger than she felt. Ryan looked away again but she continued talking, desperately hoping that she could break through to them, to him. "I don't know what she did to me, but what I did to all of you…" She trailed off, looking at each of them individually ignoring the obvious tremble in her voice. "Ryan—" She began, but stopped when he cut her off.

"She shouldn't be here!" Ryan yelled, finally finding his voice, eyes trained on her while also managing to drift to Nikita. "We don't know what Amanda did to her," he continued, his voice cold and his eyes even colder. Alex flinched at his words and looked at the floor. She couldn't look at him, couldn't see the anger and distrust in his eyes that she knew wasn't unjustified. What was worse was that she could still see him falling, falling, falling…after she'd shot him. She had no right to feel hurt from his words, yet she did anyway.

"We don't know what Amanda did to me either. If we can't trust Alex then we can't trust me," Nikita answered, her eyes defiant. She had none of Ryan's coldness but her voice was firm.

No one could say anything to that—only offer their own distinguished pained looks. Michael and Nikita's eyes met in a way that made her heart ache. A long time ago she'd said that she'd wanted a love like that, wanted someone who she could share a look with that said that even if lost, they'd lose together. She remained fully convinced that she'd had that with Sean and had now lost it.

Nikita went on to give them all one of her famous speeches that could have inspired an entire army to follow her and go into an impossible war, which was what it really was. They had no chance of winning, no chance of surviving, yet they had to try because it was the right thing to do. And as she talked about how she'd watched defenseless girls take down an armed man and how she was ready to fight, Alex realized that every thing that had made her ever resent Nikita was also something that made her love her in the same way. Like the way she took control of things and did everything to protect the people she loved, even if it meant lying to them and trusting only herself. The way that she wouldn't give up on anyone—not even on Alex, who time and time again had given her every reason to. Those things had made her hate her in the past, but now as her dark eyes lit up with excitement and ferocity, the blue eyed girl decided that she would never have a better person at her back.

So that was why when Ryan asked her, with anger fresh in his eyes, "So why are you here? Do you honestly believe that we can fight our way through this?" she answered, her eyes meeting his for the first time that night, and said something that she'd said before any of this had happened and still meant, as impossible as it was.

It was the same answer she'd given Sean when he'd asked her what they were doing at Division chasing monsters.

"I believe in Nikita."


	3. Begin Again

**(A/N This story takes place post 3x18 and is a Balex one shot. I've read a lot of Balex fanfictions and felt like the romance was often rushed and wanted to create a feeling of a new beginning, a realization. This isn't supposed to be a big declaration of love but instead focuses on the relationship of friendship the two share now and how the current plot effects them both. I ship Balex big time and wanted to take the time to give them a proper start... For now it's just a beginning of feelings that neither of them can fully understand or even begin to admit. I also ship them as just a friendship-like he's her big brother. Anyone with me..? Anyways, I hope you like it! I really would appreciate any critique or any other kinds of comments you can give me. Thank you so much for reading. :) R&R!) **

Slowly but surely people cleared out, leaving Birkhoff and me alone to the torture of solitude. To say that the silence was awkward was an understatement, and I had a feeling that he wanted to get the hell out of dodge; anywhere away from me. I kept waiting for him to leave, too, but he didn't. Instead he watched me with those eyes of his, trying to decide what he should do. The silence continued for minutes or seconds—I didn't know. It felt like an eternity and I tried to think of something—anything—to say.

Birkhoff sat at his computer, probably the last one in the building, and even though that was most likely where he was the most comfortable, it did nothing for him now. The silent, nervous, absentminded brushing of his fingers against the keys brought him no consolation. Every couple seconds or so he would look up and his would scan the room, linger on me for a second and then go back to his computer's empty screen as if expected something to suddenly pop up—in his wildest dreams, probably the newest ShadowNet edition brought back from the dead. I wasn't certain if he was so nervous from the awkwardness of the situation or if he was expecting me to suddenly leap up and attack him. It took all I had to refrain from making a joke about his nerves, but after a moment's length of staring, I decided that him not ditching me the first chance he had was a miracle—and definitely not something to mock.

"Birkhoff…" I began and then trailed off, unsure of what to say. "I'm so, so sorry," I told him, my voice trembling a bit in a way that I hated myself for. I didn't want to be weak—not when I had been for the last week—and knew that if I started crying now I might never be able to stop. I couldn't understand why _now _of all times I'd lose it—after all, it was just Birkhoff. It was just "Nerd." Yet in the same way, that was exactly why this was so hard. It _was _Birkhoff—kind, gentle, funny, and yes, nerdy Birkhoff. It was the guy who'd compared me to a "Russian Doll," saying that I was just a bunch of "whys." He'd been the only one to actually ask me why I'd started using again instead of focusing on how to "fix me," and also the one who'd teased me about Sean and the only one I'd had to talk to when I'd felt like Nikita was pointing Division in the wrong direction. Yes, it was just Birkhoff—and it was so much more than that.

I looked at him, searching for some sign of forgiveness or redemption but I only found a pair of eyes full of pain. It was a look that said he'd been betrayed—and truthfully, he had been. He didn't answer me for a long time. Instead, he stared into my eyes, probably looking for the same things. Maybe looking to see if I was the same girl he'd once called a friend, to see if I was still _me_. Because I didn't know the answer to either of things—because whether I liked it or not, I knew I was _not_ the same person—I said nothing and waited for him to respond. Something shifted in his eyes, sympathy, maybe, but for the most part they still remained hard and distant, unlike his normal eyes that were light and kind, occasionally becoming full of fire, a different kind of light in times of crisis, which was admittedly most, if not all, of the time.

Finally, he cleared his throat and gave me his full attention, his skin paling. "Did you tell Chris to kill me?" He asked me, looking betrayed in a way that made my heart ache. Once again I was reminded of the damage I'd caused, the people I'd hurt. I'd been so focused on the physical damage that I'd caused—how I'd gotten so many people killed; including Sean, and how I'd shot Ryan—that I hadn't thought about all of the collateral damage along the way. I hadn't thought about the people who my betrayal had hurt. And suddenly, I realized just how afraid I was of losing him. Not just his friendship, but also his respect. His kindness—even if he wasn't obvious about it—and our casual banter was a part of my world, and now, coming face to face with losing that I wasn't sure if I could bear losing anything else, if I could bear losing that. Him.

I took a hesitant step toward him, wincing when he flinched. I wanted to reach out and touch him in some way but I didn't, knowing that it wouldn't help. "No," I answered, voice almost desperate—which technically, I was—letting my face express all of the things I was feeling. Since Sean had died I'd felt this irrevocable sense of pain—like a knife—yet for the first time I felt something other than pain: fear. I was so, so afraid that I couldn't get better—and also afraid that even if I did, I'd be alone. After what had happened, being alone seemed like the worst thing in the world. "I didn't tell anyone to kill you," I continued honestly, hoping that he would believe me. "I even sent Owen to _protect_ you."

"Well, I guess it's the thought that counts, right?" He asked me, a twinge of anger in his voice now that made me flinch. His eyes had softened a bit, but now they were hard again—so unlike the usual Birkhoff.

Now that I was convinced that if I took a step he wouldn't reach for his gun—one that he'd only recently started carrying-I moved forward so that I stood over him. I made no moves to touch him and instead let my arms hang to my sides, palms open and unthreatening. Birkhoff watched me warily but also made no sudden movements—which I was grateful for. I didn't want to be touched, or at least I didn't think I did. He was still watching me with those cold eyes and I felt my insides quiver—like a glass just waiting to break. And honestly, I was just as wary as he was—I was like a ticking bomb.

And then he looked away.

That was when all of it became too much for me to handle because it occurred to me that I actually might lose him forever. "Look at me," I started, my voice trembling and then trailed off, not sure what to say when he did, not sure if I wanted his eyes on me. Slowly but surely he turned to look and it seemed perfectly natural to reach out and touch his arm—but I didn't. "Amanda…" I tried to put my words together into sentences that made sense, but in reality I had no idea where to start. "Amanda only amplified what was already there. My pain.. my anger, my guilt… She turned it all into a weapon. She…she turned _me _into a weapon." My eyes returned to the ground before finally meeting his after a few seconds, surprised when they held a spark of something other than anger and blame. Kindness, maybe? Sympathy? Mercy? I didn't know. All I knew was that I had his attention—if I could ever hope to make him understand, the time was now. I resisted the urge to cry, chewing on the sides of my cheeks. I tried to get back on track.

"I'm not asking you to forgive me," I told him truthfully, continuing. "Because _I _will never forgive me. I screwed up and…" I swallowed, his name coming out more like a wail than the simple word it was. "Sean _died_ because of it—and he's not the only one. And what's worse is that Amanda didn't make me do any of those things. She couldn't force me to do anything that somewhere deep down I didn't want to do. And I never, _ever _would hurt you, Birkhoff. I never wanted to hurt you." A tear escaped down my cheek and I quickly wiped away, hoping he hadn't seen it fall. It didn't matter anyway, because my eyes were full of tears.

Once again his eyes softened and stayed that way this time, causing some of the tightness in my chest to go away. The pain was still there—I had a feeling that the pain would _always _be there—but the desperation slowly faded away and inhaled, amazed when I found that for the first time in days I could actually _breathe. _Slowly but surely the fear faded from my body and I realized just how afraid I'd been that I'd lose him. It occurred to me that I'd taken him horribly for granted—he was _Birkhoff_, after all. "Why are you telling me all of this?" He asked me, his face more relaxed now—his eyes gentle.

"Because you said that we don't leave our friends to be Amanda's victims. And I know it's not the same thing, I know it's not, but while I'm not asking you to forgive me, I _need _you to," I told him, my voice pleading. I refused to shed anymore tears and forced myself to stand up straight, looking him in the eye. "If you don't want me here then I'll leave. I would've already, except that the last thing…_he_…made me promise was that I'd try to get better." I waited for Birkhoff's face to show mockery or something else, but it only showed kindness. I exhaled with a gust of air, finding it hard to breathe again. "And I don't know how to do that without you."

A confused look crossed his face, and my heart broke when he asked in an astonishingly surprised voice, "Why me? Why does my opinion matter so much to you?" He asked me, eyes gentle. The way he said it… it was like he found it hard to believe that anyone would care or find anything he had to offer, like _he _didn't think anything he could offer was important. He didn't see himself clearly—not at all, I realized, amazed that _Birkhoff_, of all people doubted his worth. "Why aren't you telling this to Michael or Ryan? Nikita…Sonya…I don't know. Someone important. Why me?"

"Because… I don't know. Because you're here. Because you're _you._" I wasn't sure what I could say to make him understand how important he was—all I knew was that I _wanted _to. It was the first thing that I'd wanted to do since Sean had died other than try and fix the mess I'd already made. It was stupid and silly—there were more important things to think about—but something told me that if I could show him, show him just how amazing he was… it would be worth it.

"A computer nerd?" Birkhoff asked, voice slightly bitter—but not at me.

"No. Well, yes. But you're…you're more than that." I was rambling now and he knew it; scrambling to put my thoughts into words. "You're sweet and kind and…irreplaceable," I continued, hoping that he would believe me and not think that it was just the kind of thing you told someone, which technically, it was. "You're like _him_," I admitted, my voice breaking. "And after everything…I can't stand the idea of someone like him hating me."

The more I thought about it, the more I realized just how much they were alike. Sean had been more confident with himself, sure, more warrior like. He had always been ready for battle and had never hesitated with his gun, prepared to become ruthless if he had to. And even though Birkhoff was none of those things, he _was _kind like Sean had been. Kind and understanding and _strong_, even if it was in an entirely different way. Sean had always been beside me in the field, but Birkhoff was the voice in my ear, my lifeline...he had always been with me in an entirely different way.

And he was also one of the very few people I had left.

Birkhoff's face became kinder then, a look I'd never seen on him. There was still doubt and vulnerability in his eyes, something that I also wasn't used to seeing. He was usually so guarded and well, sarcastic that his face rarely showed how he felt—only his eyes. In that moment it didn't matter if he didn't understand, if I was making any sense… all that mattered was that he was here. "I never hated you, Alex. I don't know. I guess I just…Blamed you. For everything that's happened, when the truth is was that it would have happened anyway, sooner or later. We are on thin ice with them and after it broke…I needed to blame someone so I blamed you." He looked down at the floor ashamed and then back up to meet my eyes, once again taking me off guard. "I'm sorry."

I don't know what made me do it, what finally made me break, especially with him. I'd taped myself together with tape and glue, and now, for the first time since _he_ had died I let myself fall apart. I hadn't consciously decided to do so, but nevertheless, tears began rolling down my face and when I spoke my voice trembled. "I…I did this, _Seymour_. This is my fault. This is all my fault…" My throat was thick with emotion and the sound that escaped me then was torn between a laugh and a cry. It was hideously embarrassing to be seen like this, with him of all people, but in the same way I felt like I didn't have to hide from him. The thought of disappointing Michael or even _Nikita _was unbearable, and while I trusted Nikita more than anyone else in the world, I felt like she'd done so much for me, all to _save _me, and I couldn't burden her the same way I could someone like Birkhoff, someone who looked at me with eyes that lacked any form of judgment.

I never had called him by his first name before, preferring to refer to him as simply "Birkhoff" or even "computer geek." It occurred to me that maybe that was one of the reasons he was so insecure about his worth—if maybe he couldn't see himself as anyone more than a computer geek because no one else did either, at least not to his face. His name rolled effortlessly off my tongue, like I'd been saying it all along.

He didn't disagree with me, maybe because he thought that it _was _my fault, maybe because he knew that there was nothing he could say to make me feel any better. It didn't matter because then he reached out to me—something that I didn't expect. Nevertheless, I let him take me into his arms, his hand resting on the back of my head. There was nothing romantic in the way he held me, yet it stirred a series of emotions within me, feelings that had been held off from me until I could handle them. I wasn't entirely sure if I couldn't handle it, but as I cried in Seymour's arms, feeling lost and pathetic, I realized that I wanted to. I wanted to live. It was why I had survived all of this time, just like Nikita had said. There was a part of me, despite and because of all that I had been through, that yearned to embrace life and all that it could offer. I couldn't picture the future Nikita always talked about, the future full of humdrum happiness and white picket fences, but I knew that I wanted to find out if it was possible or if it was just some impossible dream. I wanted to help people, and even though I knew I couldn't save everyone now, possibly not even myself, I knew that I _could _make a difference. Sean's words came back to me then, reminding me that first I had to help myself.

Hope burst inside of me and even if it was irrational, I fought to hold onto it with everything I had. My fingertips gripped his shirt, trying to grab on to something, anything. My head was burrowed in his chest, tears straining his casual blue t shirt that was half way covered by a checkered blazer that surprised me a lot more than it should have—it _was_ Seymour Birkhoff after all. Seymour leaned down to slowly kiss my forehead-which again held no romantic intent but sent a warmth through me that I couldn't understand—before looking me in the eyes to say softly, almost like a whisper, "I'm sorry I've been so hard on you."

It made no sense—there was no rhyme or reason to what was happening now. These feelings made absolutely no sense. I refused to feel them. I shoved them back down into the pit of my stomach where they'd stay. That feeling of warmth at his touch would not resurface—I would make sure of it. Yet as he released me, his hands lightly touched my waist and there was a light tingle of something, and whatever it was, it scared me. It wasn't an overwhelming feeling of passion or anything like that, but it felt… nice. Fresh. In my mind's eye I saw a butterfly, fresh from the cocoon struggling to take flight. It was the kind of feelings that promised beginnings and unpredictability…

And also the kind of feelings that were completely, beyond a shadow of a doubt ridiculous and not warranted.

"Let's just move on, okay?" I asked him as I wiped away any remaining tears and forced a smile, staring into a pair of eyes that were kind and forgiving, and also had a twinkle of something I didn't recognize. However, I meant my words and even though I couldn't forget the things I'd felt, I had a desire to, a desire for simplicity, especially because I knew that if I didn't, my heart better prepare itself to be a pretty big mess.

**(Thank you for reading! R&R!)**


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